Don't Fear The Reaper //  Blue Oyster Cult

Grinder

My alarm chimes, knocking me out of the strangest dream I've ever had. It doesn't jolt me, even though the way the dream ended should have had me shooting off the couch. My eyes open slowly while I adjust to the surroundings.

My storage room.

The dark, slightly musty atmosphere jars me more than the alarm did. My brain had taken me on a life detour and waking up to see that nothing had changed...well, sucks. I'm in the same old tattoo parlor. On the same nasty couch. The usual mid-day nap to gear up for the late-night clients. Butch at the front telling everyone who walks in the door everyone else's business. Same old, same old. Day in, day out.

And yet, something is different.

In the last week, I've heard from Maria for the first time in fifteen years. I spent time with Brax for the first time in just as long. Seeing him again was something I'd hoped for but never believed would happen. A dream come true. My dream hadn't been about him, however.

Nah, that was all about the little spitfire who bulldozed her way into my shop a week ago. Funny though, as hot as the dream was, it wasn't nearly as hot as the reality had been.

Her lips on mine.

Her tight body pressed up against me.

The heat between us undeniable.

I sit up on the couch and stretch. Half of my brain is shaking off the images lingering from a mix of fantasy and reality. The other half is trying to recreate every sensation that seemed like a tease of what could have been.

I highly doubt the soccer mom would be as much of a hellcat in bed as I had conjured up. And damn was she a vixen in my mind. Something that dreams are certainly made of because no way that could be real life.

The boner I have seems to disagree with me.

Picturing Butch in his pit-stained t-shirt takes care of that situation. Nice to know the guy is good for something. Once I've got myself under control, I stand, roll my neck, and resume my boss duties. Butch knows not to disturb me when I'm in here with the door locked. For all he knows I'm doing inventory and need to concentrate. I keep the naps to myself because if Butch caught the scent that I sleep during the day like a pre-schooler, he'd never let me live it down. Every damn client that walked into the shop would be hearing about my teddy bear or blankie or some shit like that. The Reapers would take it and run. I'd be on the receiving end of binkies and diapers every time the club got together.

No fucking thanks.

I exit the storage room, walk to my office and sit down to check the schedule.

"Grind! Customer out here for ya!"

I groan. Butch has the worst timing. I guess this time I can blame the client, not Butch, for interrupting my moment of peace. It's not often I can work back here without being called or needed for something. I push back from my desk and make no attempt to hide my irritation as I walk to the front.

"How many times do I have to tell you, they're clients not customers, Butch." My voice still carries the gravel of sleep which adds to the pissed off effect I was going for. I am pissed off, but not because of Butch.

That damn dream is hanging on like a level five clinger.

Butch doesn't have time to respond to my reprimand as I round the corner from the hallway to the entrance. The sight that greets me when I reach the front desk has me practically skidding to a stop.

It's her.

Julia.

Standing there with wide eyes as she takes me in. I tower over her. Her eyes meet mine for a split second before looking away. Her cheeks flush with color that nearly brings back the situation I dealt with earlier. The semi I'm sporting now just from the blush she's got. Fuck me.

That's what she was doing in my dream. Fucking me.

Having her standing right here, the flesh that my mind had conjured up in a wet dream my teenaged self wouldn't have known what to do with, is too much to take. I clear my throat, hoping it will release some of this heat.

Nope. Didn't do a damn thing. Tension is thick. I need to do something about it because Butch is now smirking as he looks from Julia to me and back. A sick, twisted tennis match of some kind giving him his jollies from watching.

Once again, fuck me.

I need to focus on the matter at hand, rather than the one I will be taking in hand as soon as Julia leaves.

Not helping.

"How's the tat? Tender?" I think my voice cracked on that last word. From the look on Butch's face, which I catch from the corner of my eye, it did. Great. I've been reduced to that pubescent teenager I was just mocking in my head.

"A little, yes." Julia's voice isn't much smoother than mine.

"Come back with me. Let's have a look." I gesture over my shoulder then lead her to my chair. I'm trying to be professional. I'm trying not to replay the vision that's still clear as day. The one from my dream where Julia was hovering over me, her hair like a curtain closing us in and keeping the world out.

The one where she was wearing my ring. And I was wearing hers.

Julia starts to sit in the chair when I stop her. My hand on her shoulder. I'm touching her warm skin and the jolt I should have had when I woke up earlier is now making its way through my entire body.

"No, just stand here by the mirror."

"Oh, okay." Her voice is breathless.

"Can you, um, roll down your waistband?" I point to her hip, currently covered by the stretchy fabric of yoga pants. I wonder if she does yoga. I wonder if she can twist her body into those stretches and how that could enhance her ability to bend around my body.

Then I mentally kick my ass for continuing to think about her that way.

Julia has the fabric down in a smooth motion, sensual as fuck. I'm screwed as long as she's standing here in front of me. Honestly, I'm screwed even when she's not standing in my presence. That dream was only one of several I've had in the week since she put her lips on me. They've escalated in detail and intensity each time. Just my fucking luck that the most detailed of all happened just minutes before the woman walked back into my shop.

This appointment has been on the books all week. Maybe my brain knew she was due here today.

"Looks like it's healing well. Uh, you should probably be wearing looser clothing over it. Less rubbing." Fuck the images in my head. I rub my neck and turn away from her smooth flesh, inked by my steady hand. Something about that quote has my heart racing.

That which was lost has finally been found.

"Been keeping it covered with ointment?" I keep my back turned as I ask.

"Yes." Her voice sounds far away, small. Timid.

I can't help myself. I turn back to look at her, feeling a desperate need to protect her. That's gotta be a residual dream mind fuck. The only person I've ever felt protective over was Brax. Family.

Julia isn't family.

She isn't anything.

But I can't stop myself.

"You okay?" I pull the rolling stool closer and take a seat. Now I'm focused on her rather than my messed-up head. Julia is looking down, her hands twisting together.

She takes a deep breath. "I'm wondering if I made a mistake."

My eyes travel to her tattoo, still exposed to me. "A little late now."

"Basically."

"Did something happen to cause you to second guess?" It's not uncommon for spur of the moment tattoos to be laced with regret a day or even a week later.

"Yeah," she shakes her head. "My ex happened."

I nod. I realize I'd had lingering doubt about her relationship status after she'd kissed me so damn hard. That was never established. I'm glad to hear she's single. But I'm pissed he said or did something to cause her to worry.

"He's your ex for a reason. Don't let him get in your head."

"I wish it were that easy. He made a comment about how it's a bad influence on our kids. He knows where to push to make me feel this way, I hate to say."

Fucker. The sense of protectiveness I already have for Julia just went up a few levels.

"Let me get this straight. He made you feel like shit because you did something for you, that doesn't really impact anyone else at all, in a spot almost no one will see, with a quote about finding yourself after being lost. Did I get that right?"

With wide eyes, Julia nods. She keeps that gaze locked on me, biting her bottom lip in a move I distinctly remember from my dream.

Holy shit. I ignore the twitch in my dick while I lean closer to her.

"I remember the look on your face when you saw the finished product. Do you remember?" I have no idea how buzzed she was.

"I do."

"You were fucking glowing."

Her lips part.

I lean a little closer. "You were breathtaking."

She sucks in a breath, eyes now focused on my lips. Damn.

"Let me take a little guess. You've been hiding yourself all these years behind a controlling asshole. Your entire identity was as a mom, as a wife. You left yourself out of the equation and now you've put yourself first for once. That's what the tattoo represents." I point to her hip, the desire to press my lips to her flesh punching me in the face.

Julia nods once, emotion glistening in her eyes ready to spill over.

I look at her with a new perspective. She is gorgeous. Blue-green eyes framed with long, dark lashes. Pouty lips that I remember all too well. Curves that make my mouth water. She's wrapped her arms around herself and all I want to do is unwrap her fears and lay them at her feet. Take them on myself so she doesn't have to.

Such a tiny woman with the heart of a badass. What she must have stuffed away to keep up the façade of a happy life.

What I've stuffed away to do the same with mine. I find myself wondering how similar we are, Julia and me. On the outside, there's nothing we share in common. I'm nails. She's softness and comfort. But on the inside, I think maybe we've both given up everything we wanted for a dream that never came true.

I don't think about what I'm doing when I reach out and touch her hip above the words scrolling across her flesh. My thumb gently caresses her waist. I watch as the skin under my touch rises with a chill. I shouldn't be touching her. But the woman did kiss the shit out of me not even a week ago, so I think she'll be okay with it.

I know I am.

Now that I'm touching her, I don't want to stop. The vision's still fresh in my mind of her moaning, moving over me and touching me with her soul, playing on repeat. Instead of doing what I want to do, finding out if she kisses as deeply sober as she did buzzed, I pull my hand away and lean back.

"Don't let him get into your head."

All of the heat evaporates. Moving away from her broke the spell and returned us to the present. To what we are. Tattoo artist and client, nothing more.

"Okay. Well, thank you." Julia stands up and steps around me. She raises her hand in a wave, or a brush off. I'm not exactly sure. Then I watch, frozen in place as she opens the door and leaves my shop. Without a good reason to return.

Gone.

She's just a random client. So why does it feel like my future just left me?

Fucking dream.

"Damn, Grinder. The steam coming from your chair was unreal, man. Casanova. I had no idea you had it in you."

And now I want to punch Butch in the face. Not his fault though. I don't want to be reminded of what just walked away.

"I've got some paperwork to do. Orders to put in. I'll be in my office."

"Sure thing, boss."

Before I make it into my hiding space, Butch yells from the front.

"The little woman's name and number are on file. Just in case you want them!"

I grumble a curse aimed at him and slam my office door shut. Reality sucks.

I turn my attention to inventory, numbers and data. I return emails from potential clients, look up trade shows that I might want to try out. Anything and everything I can to forget about the woman who walked away.

None of my effort matters when I end up opening the file we have on her and download her information into my contacts. I don't even know why I did it. There's no way I'm calling her. There's no way she'd want me to.

Right?

I shake my head and leave my cave to work with the living, trying like hell to leave the thoughts of Julia somewhere in my office.

And failing.

How was the heat level in this one? Did you feel it? These two had an instant chemistry, an instant connection. Little by little those connections and similarities will be uncovered. I can't wait!

As stated, this one will be a novella. I am planning on roughly twelve chapters and approximately 25k words. For perspective, inevitable is 76k words. Things in this story will continue to develop quickly.

Music this week is all a message to Julia...don't fear the Reaper. In this case, that Reaper is Grinder. Not the angel of death, but the leader of the Bitter Reaper's MC. He's a big ol' teddy bear. But don't tell Butch because that secret will be blown immediately!

https://youtu.be/Dy4HA3vUv2c

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